Discordant
by False Narrative
Summary: [Act II/One-shot] "That sickening feeling remained."


He made his way to school, like he always did. As he walked through his neighborhood, however, he couldn't help but pause.

He always walked by himself to school. That's the way it was.

Something felt off, however. He brought his wandering gaze over to a house that was across the street from his. No door opened. No one came out of the house.

 _This is perfectly normal,_ he deduced in his head. _I always walk alone to school. And back home… alone._

But for some reason, he felt an icy chill run down his spine, only serving to contrast the warm weather.

 _But… why? Why do I feel so incredibly empty?_

Realizing that he stopped for far too long observing the house, he shook his head in annoyance.

 _…Nothing's wrong. I better keep moving unless I want to be late to school._

Those thoughts proved enough for him to resume his march. After a few minutes of passing through several streets, he made his way to school on time.

That bleak feeling of emptiness still plagued him.

* * *

Once the dismissal bell rang out loud in an all-too familiar and pleasant tone, the students were free to leave their last class. Everyone around him didn't want to be in the classroom any longer and thus packed up and briskly walked out of the room and escaped the clutches of school altogether.

The school day was over just as fast as it begun to him. He was relieved to be dismissed for the day.

…And yet he remained in the classroom, even as the instructor left. Nothing seemed wrong or out of place.

That empty feeling was still tugging away at him.

 _Maybe I really should join a club or something and make some friends,_ he thought to himself with uncertainty. He thought that perhaps that feeling would leave as soon as he would do that.

After a few moments of dwelling on his thoughts, he tucked everything into his backpack and stood from his desk.

 _Maybe the anime club?_ he considered with pursed lips.

As he made his way to the door, he was stopped by a feminine voice that rang out from the open door in a cheery tone.

"Oh, wow! Hey, you!" a young woman greeted with an alluring smile as she walked into the abandoned classroom.

He took a brief moment to study her figure to remember who she was. Standing just a tad over his height, she had flowing brown locks encompassing a beautifully sculpted face, tied into a ponytail with a large, pure white bow on top. With emerald eyes and a few freckles gracing her cheeks, he remembered her as a student he had been classmates with the previous year.

"…Monika?"

She nodded, her contagious smile never wavering. "I didn't expect to see you here! It's been a while, hasn't it?"

He nodded and offered a thin smile in return. "Yeah, it has, huh?"

He was surprised that Monika took the time to even greet him. She was, after all, _the_ most popular girl in school. Smart, beautiful, athletic…

 _And way out of my league,_ he thought to himself. Feeling a little self-conscious, he lightly tugged at the sleeve of the shirt underneath his blazer.

"So… what are you here for?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

Monika walked on past him, nodding her head toward him to follow. He wordlessly complied as they both made their way to the small closet in the back of the classroom.

She perused the shelves, grabbing a few things in the process. "…Oh, I'm just grabbing some supplies for my club." She turned back toward him and asked, "Mind holding on to some of this for me?"

He shrugged but nodded. "Oh, sure thing." He couldn't help but notice Monika handing him several sheets of construction paper, along with poster boards and a loose box of colored markers. "Uhh, are these for the debate club?" he inquired.

Monika softly giggled at the question. "Nope! I'm not in that club anymore!"

A puzzled look was then etched on his face. Seeing his expression begging for more, Monika entertained him. "To be honest, I couldn't really stand the politics of the club anymore. Besides, I'd much rather be in a club that I can enjoy and make something out of!"

He shrugged. "Guess I can see where you're coming from."

All the while he couldn't help but note how easy it was talking to Monika. He felt a bit guilty for never befriending her the previous year.

He wished that feeling of total emptiness could in part be addressed by simply conversing with the popular girl.

It persisted nevertheless.

He pressed on regardless. "What club are you joining, then?"

Monika's disarming smile remained. "I'm actually starting a new one! A literature club!"

If the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn't enough to disturb him, the words "literature club" felt as if he took the swing of a hammer with full force.

 _What… What is it about a literature club that's got me feeling like this?!_ he contemplated with a truly pained expression. _And just what was it with that house I stopped by this morning?! Someone, please-!_

"Whoa!" Monika broke his line of thought with a concerned tone. "Are you feeling alright? Should I call for the school nurse?"

His thoughts still ate away at him, but he recovered with a completely stoic expression. He still held on to the supplies for Monika and straightened back to his standing position. "Uhh… yeah, I think so. Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you."

Monika stepped a bit closer to check with a discerning gaze. Aside from a bead of cold sweat making its way down the side of his cheek, he did feel fine. "Are you absolutely sure?"

He wiped the bead of sweat with his thumb. "Y-yeah. Never been better."

That sickening feeling remained. He wanted nothing to do with that club if it persisted, even if it meant not being able to simply be around Monika.

And yet…

Something about it called to him, like a father and mother beckoning a young toddler to take his very first shaky steps toward them. _One slow, unsteady step of a loosely tied sneaker…_

"So, a literature club, huh?" he asked with a curious tone.

 _After another..._

At first he thought the idea of a literature club sounded a bit dull, but he figured if he could get to connect with people, to perhaps fill the void, it would be well worth his time.

"Yeah!" Monika answered with an enthusiastic nod. "Though granted we can't be officially recognized yet…" With that she winked and smiled teasingly. "We need one more member…"

 _After another._

He took initiative, doing his best to recover from… whatever it was that hit him just a minute ago. "Alright, count me in."

He quite honestly had no idea what it was that he just signed up for.

* * *

Perhaps Monika's company alone would cure the emptiness that ailed him. He never imagined what good it could do if he were to meet and spend time with the other members of the club.

Truth be told, he didn't think very much of Natsuki, the bright pink-haired girl who kept a bit of a severe expression on her face when they met for the first time. An aura of pure annoyance reflected from her eyes of magenta, only exacerbated by a tight folding of her arms over her nearly sickeningly thin and short frame. He thought she was rather cute despite her sour expression and mood, but thought it best not to say that to her face.

 _Quite a welcoming committee,_ he thought with sarcasm as he heard her say something akin to, "A _boy_ , Monika? _Really?!_ " He probably would have listened to something else she muttered under her breath, but his full attention was cast away to an alluring figure.

A tall, young woman with lavender locks stood a bit aloof in comparison to both Monika and Natsuki, who were standing close by him. She was absent-mindedly running a hand on a leather bound book. He could only guess what the title of it was; what lettering remained on it had completely faded due to age.

The purple-haired girl didn't notice him at first.

Perhaps that was what he found so enticing in her.

With eyes that matched the locks that graced her head, she seemed to be the type of girl that wasn't fixated on much else in the world. He sensed that her books provided comfort, an escape from the absolute tortuous hells that reality can bring.

He learned her name upon meeting her. _Yuri._ He noted to himself how he desperately needed to get into the habit of reading and writing to foster a connection with the beauty.

How odd it was that he in part disregarded Natsuki in the span of a moment. And Monika, for that matter.

He possibly could have forgotten the club, too; so fixated he was with the purple-haired, magnificent enigma.

Was it her elegance… her charming presence, that could close his wound? Or was it all for naught, that his emptiness would plague him until he drew his last breath?

He practically begged to find the answer. As soon as possible – and no matter the cost.

* * *

As the days went on, he couldn't help but feel a bit attached to Yuri, although she seemed to be the one who made the initial moves.

He felt that she fostered some sort of obsession over him. He never thought of himself as a particularly attractive young man, but all the same he found it endearing in a way.

The only thing that truly disturbed him was that feeling he had upon making his way to school that Monday morning. It persisted. At that point it may as well have embedded itself and become a part of his very being.

He simply chose to ignore it. Perhaps pursuing Yuri was the cure. And so he pressed on, vying for her affection.

* * *

He was warned to keep himself at a distance by both Monika and Natsuki. Perhaps there were even warning signs from Yuri herself.

He didn't care. He attempted to justify the ways in which she acted. She was just so passionate about literature; there was nothing wrong with that.

What did Monika know about the vice president of the club? She didn't cut herself. How could such a beautiful and timid young woman rip her own pure white skin apart with a knife?

 _Monika's a liar,_ he concluded. _She's just jealous._

He got a note in the form of a "poem" from Natsuki showing deep concern for her friend. He thought it sweet that, despite her own brazen attitude, the girl did care about Yuri. Those worries, however, were unfounded.

 _Yuri's just fine the way she is. More than fine,_ he reasoned, _she's perfect. She must be what I've been missing all this time. No other soul as beautiful as Yuri's could seal away the depths of my heart._

Then came Yuri's poem.

The sheet of loose-leaf paper rested in his hands as Yuri forcefully handed it to him. Before even reading its contents, he knew it was going to be beautiful – much more beautiful than the poem he gave to her… more beautiful than _any_ poem he could ever write for her.

In his eyes it was pure art. The words and lines flowed with such perfection he swore it was from a famous poet. It painted a picture as to how Yuri truly felt about him.

It gave him solace.

He didn't even know yet that he had fully succumbed to the purple-haired beauty. He lost himself, perhaps at first glance, to insanity, falling under the throes of Yuri's affection… no, her _obsession_ over him.

But the product of Yuri's elegant and refined pen strokes on the page was so enticing, so beautiful and genuine.

Reality was lost upon him.

The "poem" could strike anyone else with fear and genuine concern for its creator. The marks of the pen were completely indiscernible. The page itself was heavily creased beyond repair, with some edges of it ripped off.

Blood was drying all over the page, and there was even a curious little yellow stain on one part that piqued his morbid curiosity. He couldn't pinpoint what the liquid was, however, as its smell was almost indiscernible from the coppery odor of the dried blood.

It was _filthy._ It was _tainted._ It _reeked_ with one's essence.

It was the creation of someone so lost.

But in it - and in Yuri - he found himself.

He knew what needed to be done. Friday couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

Sure enough, the last day of school for the week came to a close, making way for club activities to begin. Each club met in preparation for the upcoming festival, dedicating tasks to each member and the like.

The literature club was no different in this regard. Despite the familiarity of it all, he was practically shaking with anticipation. Not for the festival, no, but something else, _someone_ else entirely.

As Monika and Natsuki filed out of the classroom, he and Yuri were finally alone. The time was ripe for a confession to the purple-haired beauty.

It didn't quite go the way he planned.

Yuri practically slammed the door of the classroom, the sound reverberating off the walls. With a devious look in her eyes, she slowly locked it and turned to face him.

Despite the uneasy gaze Yuri gave him, he let an eager smile form on his face.

"Finally…" she said, rubbing her hands together in preparation. "I can have you all to myself…"

He swallowed the lump in his throat, his mouth practically watering with anticipation. He managed to say, "I never planned to spend the weekend with Monika, rest assured."

The look in Yuri's eyes remained. He swore he could get lost in those pools of lavender. "Oh, I'm so glad… I'm so glad to hear that..." She rapidly grabbed his hands with her own and then adopted a facial expression that spelled out famine. "Then come to my house, won't you?!"

He could barely hear her request over the quickening beat of his heart. It practically hurt to stand still. What could make him hesitate? It was just the two of them in that classroom, after all. Not a single soul would know of what may transpire.

Yuri continued, the look of hunger getting replaced with longing, "Won't it be wonderful, just the two of us?! It sounds great, doesn't it?!"

He didn't wait a second to respond, nodding with much enthusiasm. "It _really_ does, Yuri."

Yuri let out a maniacal laugh that sounded like music to his ears. After a moment, the purple-haired girl managed to calm down. Noticing her hands were still grasped at his, she led their joined hands to her chest as if to check her heartbeat.

"Oh wow…" she muttered. "There really _is_ something wrong with me, is there?"

" _No!_ " answered he, with a shake of his head. "Of course not! You're _perfect,_ Yuri! Everything about you is!"

He wasn't sure if Yuri registered what he said. "You know what? I don't _care_ anymore!"

His heart was mercilessly pounding, his hands still resting with Yuri's on her chest. He was gasping for air at this point, sweat quickly building in his brow.

Yuri didn't seem to notice his feverish look; she guided his hands down the blazer that fit snugly against her voluptuous form and slowly unbuttoned it. "Just being here with you… _pleases_ me more than anything!"

"Oh, Y-Yuri!" he exclaimed, heat quickly rising to his cheeks. "I feel the same! I'm absolutely _addicted_ to you!"

 _I cannot resist the urge much longer!_ he thought to himself, feeling a stirring in his loins. _Give me more… more!_

As if she heard his thoughts, Yuri forcefully brought his hands into her shirt to fondle her breasts through her lacy bra, one after another.

 _My god, yes! But it's still not enough!_

Yuri's cheeks blushed heavily, some drool leaking from one side of her mouth. "I'll die! …I'll die if I can't breathe the same air as you!" she said, an insatiable hunger in her voice like velvet. "Doesn't it feel _nice_ to have someone care about you so much?"

"The best…" he managed to mumble despite his shaking, "It's the best feeling!" He wasn't sure if he was commenting on the feeling of love or the feeling of her soft supple breasts in his hands that were now clammy with sweat.

"If it feels so good, though," Yuri said in between labored sighs at the constant contact, "why does it feel like something terrible is about to happen?"

His eyes widened at her question. He managed to wrench his hands off of her bosom, resting them squarely on her arms. "No, Yuri, no! Nothing's gonna happen! I'll protect you, I promise!"

"I tried…" she said, unyielding to his touch and words of assurance. "I tried to stop myself, but…"

Before Yuri could say anything else, he wrapped his arms around her in a vice grip embrace. "It's okay!" he practically screamed in a panicking voice. "You're okay! _We'll be okay!"_

"The feeling is much too strong now." She pulled away from the warm embrace and tightly gripped his hands again.

The grip felt like his hands were getting crushed from the pressure, but he'd let her hold on for eternity.

 _"I don't care anymore!"_ she yelled at the top of her lungs. It was nearly deafening, but Yuri's voice, screaming or not, aroused him to an irrational level. "I am _madly_ in love with you!" With that, she let go of his hands, resting her hands behind her back.

He wanted to respond, to assure her the feelings were reciprocated tenfold… no, a _hundredfold._ She continued with her vicious tirade, however.

"Every inch of my body… every drop of blood… is screaming out your name!"

"Take me, Yuri, I'm yours!" he exclaimed, opening his arms wide. "Damn the consequences!"

Yuri took a moment to take in a few deep breaths. Once calmed down, she replied, whether to his or her own words, "I don't even care if Monika or anyone else is listening! Just know how much I _love_ you…"

"I _need_ you, Yuri," he softly answered to match her now calm tone. Despite it all, his heart was still mercilessly pounding. _I can't wait much longer!_ a voice resounded in his head. _She's all mine now!_

Yuri dug in the pocket of her blazer and fished out a black pen that looked a bit familiar to him. She glanced at it with lust and cradled it as if it were an infant. "I love you so much," she continued, "that I even _touch myself_ with the pen I stole from you…"

Yuri looked back to make eye contact; she was blushing a bright crimson as they locked eyes. He didn't feel the need to make a verbal response. He instead grabbed the pen from Yuri's hand, maintaining eye contact all the while.

He began licking it, just for a taste of her flesh. He hoped Yuri was enjoying the sight, as he was savoring each and every time he ran his tongue along the writing utensil. He could barely control himself at this point.

Yuri merely watched with a sense of bewilderment and arousal, her cheeks furiously blushing. Seeing the contrast between her cheeks and her purple hair, he felt encouraged to continue for a moment longer. He wanted those precious few moments to last; they provided a mere taste of what he hoped would follow.

He was stopped, however, by Yuri gently grabbing his free hand. All of a sudden, then, she unleashed a grip so hard as if to save her life. Maintaining eye contact all the while, she forced his hand to teasingly rest on one of her exposed thighs, just above her leggings.

He shuddered at the feeling of his hand against her thigh. He dropped the pen and looked into Yuri's gaze with a carnal desire in his eyes. He was begging without saying a word. Yet something stopped him from moving his hand on his own.

He became a puppet for Yuri to control. Perhaps it was meant to be this way in the end. A hungered expression was written on her face. Drool still leaked from one side of her mouth, her cheeks' flush remaining. She was sweating rapidly and heaved deep sighs with parted lips.

Yuri slowly inched his hand with hers toward her panties underneath her blue skirt. "I… I want you _all_ to myself." Her hand guided his to the prize he so desperately wanted to claim, and bid one finger entry.

His eyes rolled to the back of his head at the incredible warmth and welcoming moisture. It only lasted a few precious seconds until Yuri suddenly jerked his hand back to her chest.

He couldn't stand the way she was playing games with him, yet he would willingly go along if it made her happy. He was her puppet until the very end and he was perfectly content with that.

Monika, Natsuki, the literature club… it all left his mind as quickly as Yuri initially seized his attention and desire. "So please tell me…" she said softly. "Tell me you want to be my lover."

He kept his undivided attention on Yuri's face, not wanting to tear his gaze away from her for a mere second. His heart continued its merciless rhythm. At that point he was afraid it would burst out of the cavity of his chest at any moment. He was terrified of something happening to break their moment, which was now all but suspended in time, and yet he was also so sure that nothing of the sort would happen.

Yuri took another deep breath as his thoughts rushed nonstop. "Do you accept my confession?"

 _"Yes!"_ he yelled all of a sudden, taken aback at his own outburst, grabbing Yuri's hands with vigor and passion in his eyes. _"A thousand times yes!"_ He unceremoniously wrapped his arms around the young woman, completely unaware of what her reaction would be.

She let out a gentle and girlish giggle, inching her hand toward the pocket of her blazer.

Time seemed to stand still for the two in the abandoned classroom. If it were up to him, they'd remain that way for an eternity. He felt Yuri's hand shift but paid it no mind whatsoever.

A part of him fantasized Yuri was going to pull at his pants, yet that never came.

All the while she continued to laugh. He was entranced in a stupor. Just the sound of her voice, her laugh – it was all he felt he needed, never mind the intimate touch. Even though her gentle chuckle turned into a panic inducing cackle in a moment's passing, he loved it.

He didn't even notice that in his stupor, Yuri gently shoved him to expose just what she was hiding in the pocket of her blazer: a chef's knife.

Glowing in the gentle sunlight from the windows, the knife didn't alarm him one bit.

Not until Yuri, with lust in her eyes, plunged the silver blade deep into her chest, blood and gore rapidly leaking from the grievous wound. She kept constant eye contact as she breathed her last.

She fell backwards, landing on the wooden floor with an audible thud. The eye contact remained.

His eyes widened, mouth hanging open as a dummy.

 _"No,"_ he muttered under his breath. _"No!"_ he screamed, his throat protesting at the outburst.

His high gave way into shock and despair as he passed out, landing only inches from Yuri's lifeless corpse.

* * *

Hours passed. That much he could tell, with the darkness of the classroom. The only thing that lit the near pitch black was the moon and stars in the sky in addition to a sparse few light poles spread through the school grounds.

He awoke with a sharp pain in his head, feeling as if someone was drilling a nail through his skull. He rubbed his hand on the side of his head in some attempt to nurse the pain, though it never subsided.

He sat up on his knees and looked to his right, beholding the sight of Yuri's corpse, blood drying on her open blazer and shirt. Upon stealing a glance at her eyes that were still open, he quickly turned away and vomited.

"It… it wasn't a dream…" he murmured with horror after heaving and having a coughing fit.

He turned back to Yuri's corpse, feeling himself tear up. "Yuri… I'm so sorry. Why couldn't I save you?"

The pain seemed to pulse with great intensity with his words. He groaned and hissed through clenched teeth, resting his hands on either side of his skull.

 _"Gah… what's happening to me?!"_ he blurted out.

His answer didn't come naturally. He looked away from the dead body, wishing to purge it from his mind. He lazily rested his eyes on the chalkboard at the front of the classroom and couldn't help but notice the markings he never saw before.

 _Have a nice weekend!_

The cursive writing looked so clean and flawless. He couldn't for the life of him know who it was that wrote on the chalkboard, but it mattered not.

All of a sudden the pain in his head stopped. He felt so relieved at that, but the relief soon turned to guilt and utter confusion.

There was something he said before that rang in his ears.

 _Why couldn't I save you?_

 _Yuri… she wasn't… she wasn't the first person I couldn't save… was she?_

An overwhelming feeling of sorrow washed over him at the thought.

 _There was… someone else. Just… who could it have been?_

 _And why… why couldn't I remember until now?!_

He blinked and felt tears stream down his face. "Who… who was she?" he stammered, each breath shaking with newly fallen tears.

He couldn't for the life of him recall a name, but the image of a girl came to mind. It was an adorable young woman with a dazzling smile. With strawberry blonde hair and a lazily nestled red bow on top, she wore an open blazer that adorned her lithe figure. Her eyes were a stunning cerulean… ones that anyone could get lost in if they gazed for too long.

 _"Who… Who?!"_ he screamed, pounding his head relentlessly with his fists. No matter how hard he tried, the girl remained in his mind… her name unknown.

It was a girl he didn't know… and yet somehow he did.

He let out a furious scream at himself, pulling relentlessly at his hair, clenching his eyes shut tight.

Each time he blinked, the girl appeared in his mind. Each time he opened his eyes, Yuri's lifeless, bloody corpse assaulted his senses.

He couldn't take it anymore.

His eyes locked on to the knife that was still plunged into Yuri's chest.

* * *

 _sometimes the best feeling may be the one that kills_

* * *

 _(Author's Notes:) Hello all and welcome to my second one-shot for DDLC. With this I tried my hand at introspection for the protagonist in Act II, thus the rather dark tone. In the first Act we see he's largely in control but by the second he is completely out of it, barely ever speaking or making choices for himself. Here is my attempt at shedding some light. Special thanks go to GoopyLeFuckingGrande for sharing his thoughts throughout the writing process._

 _As always, feedback, critique and opinions are welcome. Thank you for reading._


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